Dreams
by Chibimom
Summary: A look into what helped make Irons the man he is today.


Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Top Cow, WB, TNT, etc.  
  
AU. Occurs a few years prior to Sara's emergence. This story is based on the series, the comic book, and my imagination.

A look into Irons' past and what helped make him the man he is today  
  
Rated 'R' due to sex, rape, and violence

Reviews are always encouraged.  
  
My husband won't beta for me anymore. Anyone want to volunteer? Please?  
  


DREAMS  
  
  
By: Chibimom  


Ian was by his side, standing in his usual subservient pose, as Irons' mind wandered. The fire crackled quietly as he drank his scotch, plunged deeply in his heavily upholstered chair. The glass in his hand was heavy and he was about to drop it on the floor. He'd had a little too much to drink, which was extremely unusual for him. Control was paramount and being tipsy left one out of control.   


The day had been dreadful. First, on his way to an important meeting at Vorschlag Industries, the limo had broken down with a flat tire. Though Ian and Julian, the driver, had it changed in record time, Irons had paced back and forth outside the car, ranting and raving about being late to his meeting with the State Senator from Alaska, John Fredericks. He called his office and was patched through to the Senator. Irons apologized for the delay; he hated being late and hated having to apologize even more.   
  
"Sir, we are ready to resume." Ian spoke softly to Irons and kept his head down, hoping Irons wouldn't decide to blame him for the incident. He had been receiving a lot of undeserved blame lately. But that was part of his job as bodyguard, servant . . . lapdog. His blood began to heat. Ian opened the door, and Irons entered the vehicle. Ian sat in front next to Julian.  
  
"I want to be there in 10 minutes ago!"  


The Vorschlag building loomed beside them as the limo pulled in next to the sidewalk in12 minutes flat. Irons scowled, as Ian opened the door for him. Pushing past Ian, Irons hurried inside. Ian had to walk quickly to keep up with his employer. He entered the private elevator just before the doors closed. Irons motioned to him and Ian allowed the retinal scanner to identify him, then gave the voice command to take them to the 22nd floor.   


Halfway up, the elevator came to a jolting halt. Interior lights flickered as the elevator car dropped a foot, shaking its two passengers.  
  
"What the hell is happening now?" Irons slammed his briefcase against the elevator wall as he nearly fell.  


Immediately Ian was on the phone to the security desk. His expression was grim as he turned to face Irons, but he kept his head down and his hands behind his back.  
  
"There has been a security incident, Master. Someone tripped an alarm in your offices. The elevators automatically shut down until Security has investigated the situation."  


Irons howled and rolled his eyes at this explanation and back handed Ian, leaving a red mark on his cheek. A few strands of curls came loose from Ian's hair which was pulled back into a tail.  


"You supervised the set up of this system! Why didn't you foresee this scenario? My private elevator should run no matter what the threat!" Irons was too livid to see the folly in his last statement.   


Ian was silent but braced himself for another blow and was not disappointed. He had to get them out of this elevator before Irons leveled all of his frustrations on him. Ian called Security again and spoke softly for a minute. The elevator started up.  


"Sir, I had them start it. I will take full responsibility for your safety while they are investigating the incident."  
  
"Fine, Fine," Irons nodded his head, knowing he was in no danger with Ian by his side.  
  
They reached the floor containing Irons' offices. No one was in sight as Ian stepped from the elevator, Glock in hand, keeping Irons behind him. The floor had been evacuated.  


"Please wait here while I check the offices." Ian quickly disappeared and reappeared in 90 seconds. "The area is clean."  
  
Irons threw his briefcase down on the top of his desk and called Senator Fredericks. His assistant answered and informed Irons that Fredericks had other appointments and would not take any calls at this time. He suggested Irons try tomorrow after Fredericks had returned home.  
  
Irons' face was red as he threw the cell phone across the room barely missing Ian who was standing by the door to the office. Ian didn't move a muscle or change expression.  
  
Ian's cell phone beeped and he listened intently for a few moments. He walked over to Irons' desk, keeping his head down and his voice low as he explained.  
  
"The security cameras show that Senator Fredericks' assistant visiting the gallery while he awaited your arrival, Sir. He attempted to touch one of the paintings and the alarm went off, sealing the building. The building is now free from the lock down and the employees are returning." Ian's jaw tightened, expecting Irons to disapprove of the explanation by striking him.  
  
Irons sank into his supple, leather chair and sighed heavily. Just then, the sprinkler system erupted and the downpour soaked him and everything in sight. He sat there, glaring incredulously at his bodyguard who was on the phone again yelling over the noise of the water.   
  
"Turn it off now!" Ian screamed into the phone. He tried to shut down the system from the control pad on the wall next to Irons' desk, but nothing happened. Security finally had the system codes in and the water stopped flowing. Oddly enough, the sprinklers had only come on in Irons' office. Ian quickly ran through all of the other systems to make sure there would be no other surprises.  
  
Drenched, Ian took off his heavy wool coat and laid it across one of the wooden chairs. He hurried over to Irons and found him staring out the window at the New York skyline. Quietly, too quietly, he turned and walked into a large suite which included living area, bar, sleeping quarters, bath and a large closet with dressing room. Irons picked out a suit and undergarments and emerged dry and crisp, looking like the past half hour had never happened.  
  
Walking past Ian, Irons glared at him with icy eyes. "Get my briefcase."   
  
  
2  
  
Irons sent Ian home, on foot, in humiliation. It was a four-hour walk even at his brisk pace. A cold December rain soaked him to the bone, taking no pity on his already wet body. The heavy coat was thrown across his arm and he was left wearing only a tee shirt, a medium weight wool sweater and wool slacks. All were soaked.  
  
A Starbuck's sign up ahead beckoned to him like an oasis in the desert. He stepped inside just long enough to buy a Grande Cappuccino. The hot coffee warmed his insides as he continued on his way. Even though he was miserable, the respite from Irons was welcomed.

Irons' limo pulled up outside the Ritz Carlton Hotel. Julian opened his door and Irons went inside. He hoped Senator Fredericks would honor the luncheon date he had just set up during the drive over. He had to talk to Fredericks before his flight left at 4 pm.   
  
After much cajoling the Senator agreed to honor his luncheon date with Irons. The maitre de led Irons to a secluded booth near the rear of the dining room. Glancing over the wine list, he picked one out, scowling. His wine cellar had a much better selection than this place.  
  
Irons stood up as the maitre de led the Senator to his table. Irritation was transferred through the Senator's hand shake. They sat and glanced over the menu. The wine arrived and the Senator waived off any for himself. Damn, Irons mused, don't tell me this man does not drink during business. They ordered and Irons retrieved some documents from his briefcase.  
  
"I want to apologize for the incident at my offices today. Mr. Nottingham, my head of security, has been over zealous in protecting the art gallery. While there were some extremely valuable pieces in there, the system did not have to be so sensitive. My offices need not be as fortified as Fort Knox!" Irons laughed. Seeing no response from Fredericks, he continued. "Mr. Nottingham will be properly dealt with."   
  
Irons began to spread the papers over the table, "As you can see, my geologists predict if we drill here," he pointed to various places on a map, "and here, the likelihood of hitting oil is 93%. We just need clearances to drill in this state park."  


The Senator looked over the plans and his eyes grew dark.  


"This is what you've been harassing me about for the last few months? I cannot make this decision on my own. If I could, I would veto the idea. Alaska has plenty of unspoiled land, but too many drilling rights as it is and I would never agree to drilling that close to a major city! Did you forget to check my record on this?"  


Irons' face turned red at the accusation. Fredericks got up to leave and Irons added, quietly, "I would be willing to pay handsomely to anyone helping me in securing drilling rights."  


The Senator turned and hissed, "Mr. Irons, you have more money that you could spend in many lifetimes. However, my state is not for sale. I'll pretend you never said that." He quickly left the dining room.  
  
Irons sighed. That went well! He would just have to try a few of the other tricks up his sleeve.

His meal arrived and he ate quietly, scheming, making some notes into his voice-activated recorder, and downing the bottle of wine by himself.  
  
He returned to his offices to find three maintenance men still cleaning up the water and polishing an ebony bookcase. A new computer was in place and Billy, the kid from IT, was reloading Irons' personal/sensitive files from the thumb drive. Non-personal files were available from the network back up. Luckily Billy backed up Irons' files twice daily. Since the office was stark and metallic, except for the one bookcase, nothing else was ruined. The drawers in his metal and glass desk were tightly sealed and no water intruded on his personal items. His favorite leather desk chair had been cleaned and looked no worse for the shower.   
  
"We're out of here now, Sir." The maintenance supervisor was glad he didn't have to face Irons often. He didn't think he could stand his employer's icy glare on a daily basis. They gathered up their cleaning equipment and left.  
  
Billy was soon finished also and rose from a second leather chair. "That should take care of everything, Sir. If you have any problems, let me know right away!"   
  
"Thank you, Billy. I now appreciate the interruptions you make daily." Irons attempted his best smile, but it still turned into a smirk as he sat down.  
  
"Thank you, Sir." Billy left the office.  
  
Irons pulled out his cell phone and called Ian. "Where are you?"  
  
"I am an hour from the mansion, Sir." His teeth chattered slightly from the cold and he hoped Irons did not pick up on it. The cold and rain made his whole body shiver. He would have been warmer if he had been instructed to run home, but he was told to walk.   
  
"Your coat was drenched?" Irons felt a fleeting pang of guilt for making Ian walk home in the freezing rain. "I want you to catch a cab for the remainder of your trip."  
  
"Sir, my punishment needs to be completed," Ian said. He knew he had failed Irons in the set up of the office security system. The punishment was his to endure. "However, if I may be allowed to jog the rest of the way . . ."  
  
"Yes, Nottingham, you may. When you arrive home, take a hot shower to warm yourself. You'll do me no good if you come down with something." Irons terminated the call.  
  
An hour later, Irons decided there was really nothing more to accomplish at the office so he called for his limo. He was walking down the stairs toward the street when he heard something whiz past his ears. The sidewalk was hard and cold as he hit the ground rolling. Julian appeared at his side, brandishing a Beretta, looking toward the area the shots came from. Several more rounds were fired at them and he fired back while pushing Irons into the car. In a crouch, Julian circled the car, got in and sped away.  


Irons was shaken. He had been shot at before but Ian had always been there to protect him. Having a bodyguard who could catch bullets in his gloved hands tended to make him feel safe. Ian would not have allowed the gunman to live long enough to fire the second round. Why was it he had sent Ian home? He buried his face in his hands.  


Speeding through the city streets, Julian backtracked and turned onto many different side streets to be sure no one followed. Running several red lights nearly causing a couple of accidents, but Julian expertly avoided them.  
  
Irons sat in the back trying to regain his composure. The attempt on his life left him outraged.  
  
"Mr. Nottingham, shots were fired (pause) no he wasn't hurt, just shaken up," Julian spoke into his cell phone. (Pause) I'm fine too. We'll be there in 15 minutes."  
  
Ian met the car as it pulled into the garage. Julian quickly gave Ian all the details of the incident. Ian's jaw set clamped down in fury.  


"I'll take over from here," Ian said. "Thank you for saving Mr. Irons' life. Please help Mr. Irons inside."  
  
Julian nodded.  
  
Ian disappeared in an instant before Irons could instruct him otherwise. Who would dare attempt to kill Irons? If he had only been there. He knew it had to be the White Bulls. No one else but the police would dare fire on Irons in broad daylight in a very public place. Irons had terminated his association with the group a few months ago. Their current leader did not want to be in Irons' back pocket. Ian went inside to get his weapons and a dry coat. Ian sped off in his black BMW before Irons entered the great room.  
  
_________________________________  
  
  
Irons' dark assassin returned home in three hours. Wet, cold, but successful in his task, Ian entered the mansion. In sharp contrast to the weather outside, the great room was warm and inviting. Ian took both of his dark coats and carried them to the laundry room. They needed to go to the cleaners. Irons' coat was already in the cleaning basket. The dirt on Irons' coat nearly seared Ian's hand as he touched it. His eyes tightened. Everything had been 'taken care of' now, but he should have been there when it happened. If he could only perform his duties to his Master's expectations, he wouldn't constantly be incurring his wrath. He wouldn't have been sent home like a worthless dog. He would have been at Irons' side. Julian's training kept Irons safe this time. What about next time?  
Ian quickly showered, changed into dry clothes and returned to Irons' side.  
"I am sorry I was not there, Master." Ian voice was plaintive, his stance subservient. 

"I'm the one who sent you home. You have nothing to be sorry for." Irons looked up from his comfortable leather chair after finishing the last glass of wine and pushed the empty bottle back into the bucket. "Fetch me a glass with ice and the Scotch, my pet." He removed the already loosened his tie.  


Ian blushed. He hated being called 'pet'. The crystal glass tinkled as he handed it to Irons and stood next to his chair.   


Irons filled the glass once and threw back the contents. The smooth liquid slid down his throat warming it along the way. He threw back a second, third, and fourth before he allowed himself to sip the contents, to savor the smoky taste.   
  
Ian's hand resisted only slightly as Irons reached for it, removed the glove and gently raised it to caress his cheek. Ian's hand was soft, but strong and smelled like the rich leather which always encased it. Ian steeled himself. He very seldom came in contact with anyone's flesh, and he felt hollow at the implications of this intimate touch. Irons released Ian's hand and he quickly put on his glove.   
  
Sometime later, the bottle of Scotch was three quarters empty when Irons dropped his glass to the floor, asleep. Ian carried him upstairs and carefully removed his clothes and dressed him in grey silk pajamas. Irons mumbled something unintelligible and stroked Ian's hair which was still damp from his hot shower. He fell back to sleep when Ian covered him with the vivid blue velvet comforter.   
  
Taking his place at the doorway, Ian settled in for the evening. He had already been up for 60 hours. Another 8 would be easily endured. Ian kept his head up and gaze level. His right hand held on tightly to his Glock and in his left hand he gripped his katana. No one would harm his Master tonight.  
  
3  
  


Irons' mind raced, not able to grab onto a single thought, a single image. Intoxicated dreams are often like that. His mind finally reached out and pulled him into a familiar setting.  
  
Ellswood, the country manor, stood at the top of a distant hill. Its grandeur could be recognized even at this distance. Kenneth found himself on a small but powerful chestnut Arabian gelding. The horse was side stepping nervously, but he was an excellent horseman. The foxhounds were baying loudly; their quarry's refuge in a hollow log would not last much longer. He looked to his father, astride a large gray stallion.  
  
"Father, can't we please let the fox go?" He didn't want to see the fox shot by the hunters. It wasn't fair. They had chased the poor thing for many miles and it had to be near exhaustion. This was not his idea of fair play.  
  
Sir Geoffrey Irons looked over at his son, of 12 years and frowned. A fox hunt was all about rounding up the vermin foxes and killing them; in a civilized way of course. Kenneth's large blue eyes pleaded with him and he acquiesced. The boy had a kind soul, taking after his beloved, departed wife, Jane. Kenneth must be taught that life is not fair and one must fight for everything lest it is taken away. But, for today, the fox need not give up his life for that particular lesson. Geoffrey called to the others to bring in the hounds; there would be no killing today.  


Riding quietly back to the manor, Kenneth knew this was his last fox hunt for quite awhile. In three days he was to travel to France to continue his education. While looking forward to the adventure, he would miss his father and his friends. He was well liked and had many friends among the Lancashire elite.   
  
A stableboy took the horses from father and son and they entered the manor. The main house was opulent but tastefully decorated. The home was light and airy inside. Jane had hated dark dreary mansions with heavy dark tapestries and furniture. The furnishings she chose, while not in the height of style, were true to her desires.   
Geoffrey could not believe she had been dead for over four years now. It seemed like yesterday. A beautiful portrait of her hung above the grand marble staircase which faced the entryway. Geoffrey was glad he had commissioned the painting before her death. They were opposites in appearance; he was dark complected with raven black hair and Jane a shimmering white blonde with the fairest of complexions and intense sapphire eyes. Kenneth was the male image of his mother.  
  
The two went to their rooms and removed their hunt attire. The red jackets and black hats were set aside for the maids to tend to. Kenneth kept his white breeches and white ruffled shirt, but added a gray jacket as he went downstairs.  
  
"Becky, what's for dinner?" He ran into the kitchen.  
  
"Roast pig with apples and carrots." Becky knew this was one of Kenneth's favorites. She loved the boy as her own and was trying to fix all his favorite dishes before he left for France.  
  
Kenneth hugged Becky and ran back into the house. Another maid was setting the formal dining table with the best china. He ran straight into Phillip, the butler.  
  
"Master Kenneth, your father does not approve of you running in the house. It is not gentlemanly." Phillip held him at arms length and straightened the collar on his shirt. "I suggest you go quietly to the dining room and wait for your father. I am on my way to announce dinner."  
  
"Yes, Sir." Kenneth replied quietly, and walked slowly to the dining room.  
  


4  
  
Ian turned to watch as Irons tossed in his bed. He walked to the side of the bed and carefully pulled up the comforter that Irons had thrown aside. He was having a dream, but Ian saw no reason to wake him. Waking him might make him angry. Irons was growing calmer, but his Rapid Eye Movement (REM) hinted that he was in a deep dream state.   
  
Returning to the doorway, Ian took up his post.   


_______________________  
  


Kenneth had been at school in France for three years now. He visited his father at Christmas and for a few weeks during the summer, but they now centered his life on the Continent. He had learned everything a gentleman should know: music, literature, art; also things a man should know.  
  
His older friend, Raul, instructed him in lessons of the heart. Raul introduced Kenneth to the young woman who would take his virginity. She was a cook's cute daughter from a house in the outskirts of Paris. Raul instructed her to be gentle with the younger boy as it was his first time. She giggled and stepped into the stable where Kenneth was waiting, nervously.  
  
Kenneth was beginning to lose his nerve, when the woman walked in. He nearly drooled as she slowly removed her clothes. She reached her arm around Kenneth's neck and pulled him into the straw and kissed him. Unbuttoning his pants she reached in and stroked his erection. Kenneth gasped and nearly came right then. She moaned and straddled her hips above him, grinding, teasing. Holding onto his hips, she pushed down, enveloping him in wet tightness. Groaning, Kenneth bucked up into her. Riding him, lustfully, her movements became faster. Kenneth sloppily kissed her and devoured her breasts. Soon after it started, it was over. He burst inside her, sending sensational shock waves directly to his brain.   


He lay there, spent, while Raul tossed a few coins into the girl's hand and sent her on her way.  


"Well?" Raul asked, stretching out on the straw beside Kenneth.  
  
"That was definitely better than when I do it myself," Kenneth laughed, buttoning up his pants.  


The lusty exploits of Kenneth Irons were soon well known throughout Paris. Even Raul couldn't keep up with him. Kenneth quickly moved on to 'good girls', daughters of Paris' elite. He was quite the charming seducer of gentile young ladies as well as frustrated wives of the rich, whose husbands traveled extensively. Occasionally he would be caught, but his money could buy both outraged fathers and deflowered virgins.   


Kenneth also discovered that he enjoyed men nearly as much as women. It was easy to find young boys with hairless faces and bodies who were willing to be seduced for a few silver coins.   
  
As a result of his nightly exploits, Kenneth often had to defend his honor in fencing matches. His athleticism and grace won him most of his matches; determination won him the remainder. Kenneth never lost.  
  
Late one dark night, Kenneth was on his way back to school after spending the evening with Raul and his mistress, Michelle, when three men grabbed him. They dragged him into an alley which stank of urine and vomit. Fear rose in his throat. He heard rats skittering along the walls and his boots slid through . . . he didn't want to think about it.  
  
"Let me pass, or you will be sorry." He tried to sound older than he was and unafraid. His hair shined softly in the yellow gaslight that illuminated the end of the alley.   
  
The men laughed as they held him still in the muck while one of them tore Kenneth's clothes from his body.  
  
"We hear you like boys." The largest man dropped his pants and began to caress Kenneth's ass. We'll see if you like grown ones!"  


Real fear welled up in him now. "I can pay you any amount you want if you just stop this now!"  


"We don't want money, we want your tender ass." With that the man plunged into Kenneth sending searing pain throughout his being. Agony. He screamed, but the other men covered his mouth. They forced him to his hands and knees as they brutalized him. Each took a turn, ripping his insides until he bled. Bites up and down his back oozed drops of blood. One of them grew hard again and attacked Kenneth's mouth. Gagging, he bit down hard, sending the man howling, holding his crotch. Big mistake. They kicked and beat him until Raul, having heard Kenneth's initial scream found his friend, entered the alley and fired his pistol. The men fled, but Raul hit two of them.  
  
"My God, Kenneth," Raul cradled Kenneth in his lap as he removed his coat and wrapped it around the younger man. "It will be all right."  
  
Kenneth sobbed uncontrollably. Raul retrieved his pants and helped him into them. Kenneth did not want to return to school so Raul took him to the home of his mistress.   
  
"Raul, what happened to Mr. Irons? Come in and lay him on the bed." Michelle filled a large basin with hot water from the pot which always hung in the fire.   
  
Together they cleaned Kenneth's wounds. Raul took a bottle of brandy and swabbed the bite marks on Kenneth's back. He lurched up and cried out, but Raul's strong hands kept him on the bed. Michelle gently wiped the blood down the backs of his legs, and he cried out again, this time in shame.  
  
"Please, no . . ." Kenneth murmured. He tried to wiggle away from her touch.  
  
"Mr. Irons," she said, "I have seen many a male ass in my life. While yours may be rather nice, it's still an ass."  
  
Raul laughed loudly and Kenneth managed a slight smile. As his body raged in pain, his mind vowed to find his rapists and deal them slow deaths. He fell asleep as Michelle cleaned his face.  
  
  
5  
  
Irons thrashed in his bed, remembering the horrid deaths he and Raul bestowed on the three rapists. He moaned and Ian glanced his way, but Irons was soon still again.   


___________________________  
  


Kenneth grew cold after his rape. He seldom gave of himself; always took. His became ruthless in his business endeavors. Money his father sent him was invested in cargo ships that sailed to America. He could undercut other maritime merchants and still his investments would return ten fold. America beckoned to him, but there were still things to see and learn in Europe. And there were still a lot of liquor and sex to be had.  
  
One evening when Kenneth was returning late from hours of drinking and whoring, one of his teachers, Mr. Alverado, caught him by the arm as he was entering the school's sleeping quarters.  
  
"Mr. Alverado," Kenneth's speech was slurred and he stank of sex and spilled beer.  
  
"Irons, you are a disgrace to this school. The other teachers may fear your father's money and power, but I do not. I won't allow a graduate of this school to bring shame down upon it. You'll be graduating in a few months, so now is the time to take action."  
  
He started pulling at Kenneth's arm, leading away from the dorm entrance. Kenneth tried to free himself, but Alverado was too strong, his long fingernails bit into the boy's wrist. He dragged Kenneth around the back of the school and on toward the small chapel at the edge of the property.   


"Oh, we're going for a few Hail Mary's?" Kenneth muttered, laughing.   
  
His optimism left him as Alverado dragged him to the front doors of the chapel. Unlocking the large, heavy doors, he pulled one open. The hinges screamed in protest at the intrusion. They obviously hadn't been opened in quite some time.  


"Where are you taking me?"   


Kenneth kept tugging at the strong hand that wrapped around his wrist, but it wouldn't budge. He couldn't see anything, but felt a rope tying his hands behind him and shoving him into a pew.  


"You will spend the night here, repenting. In the morning, I'll bring a visitor who is anxious to meet you."  


Alverado pulled Kenneth up off the pew and led him to the back of the chapel, There he tied the rope to a chair which was bolted into the floor. After he was satisfied that Kenneth could not escape, Alverado left him in the dark.  
  
Kenneth would not give his teacher the satisfaction of crying out. But he wondered what a monk would want with him. He was angry and tried to loosen his bonds, but grew tired and eventually fell asleep.  


6  
  


The next morning Alverado and another man approached Kenneth. Light peeked through the dirty windows barely lighting the tiny church. The smaller man was a monk, his head and face obscured by a dark hood.

  


"This is Mr. Irons," Alverado introduced the monk to the boy. "Mr. Irons, this is Brother Samuel."  
  
Alverado untied Kenneth's ankles and was thanked with an attempted kick to his groin.  
  
"Do that again and you'll be bound and gagged," Alverado warned. He turned back to the monk and they began to speak quietly.  
  
Kenneth could hear very little. His wrists were raw from being bound throughout the night and he was cold. His temper was about to flare again, but he fought to control it. It had no effect on Alverado. Sighing, Kenneth listened carefully, trying to pick up on the conversation between the two men.  
  
"Well, is he the boy foretold in the prophesies?" Alverado and Brother Samuel looked carefully through a large book. The book was very old; the pages were brittle and the monk took great care to turn them.  
  
"I'm not sure. The next Protector of the Witchblade should not have been born yet. But there are similarities. The prophecy says to look for a knight of darkness from the Celtic Iles. An dark man comes to France to garner knowledge and to seek guidance in matters concerning the Witchblade. It has been lost to us since the time of Joan, but will be reclaimed. To its wielder it will bring great power. Power to conquer the world. Or release it from its shackles. But only a woman can harness its powers."

What rubbish, Kenneth thought. Was he supposed to be this 'man' of darkness'? They'd best release him soon. He would tell his father of this injustice and the school would be closed. He shut his eyes. Father would buy the school just to close it. And he would have the pleasure of putting a sword right through Alverado's heart.  


The monk came near Kenneth and studied his features. "This boy is light haired and pale skinned, not dark like the prophecy reads."  
  
"He has a dark nature. He drinks and whores and starts fights in town. He brings shame to the school and his father's name"  
  
"A vision in a dream brought me here to see this boy," Samuel said. "There must be a reason."   
  
Kenneth wanted to see the book. Wanted to see what this was all about.  
  
"May I see it?" Kenneth asked motioning his head toward his wrists which were still bound behind his back.  
  
"Try anything foolish . . ." Alverado warned.  
  
"I just want to see the book." Kenneth was released and he walked over to the altar to look into the pages.  
  
Its illustrations and golden script were magnificent. Obviously, the writers of this book had been highly skilled. Kenneth knew he had never seen anything like it and he had seen many valuable books in his lifetime. He carefully turned a few pages when he came face to face with an illustration of a magnificent gauntlet. Jewels studded its length and just behind its talons, a large ruby-red stone swirled with yellows and violets. This was the Witchblade? Next to the gauntlet, was a drawing of a modest silver cuff embedded with the red stone in its center. What did this mean?   
  
The pages revealed illustrations of women through the ages, each wearing a form of the bracelet. And, always, by her side a man whose face was obscured in shadows. Alverado and Samuel watched in excitement as Kenneth paged through the book in wonderment.  
  
This was insane! Suddenly, he looked up at the two men with a scornful look.  
  
"You think that I am supposed to be this man? Know where this weapon is?" He scoffed. "I have never seen it before these illustrations. I'm leaving now!"   
  
Samuel closed the book and picked it up.

"Mr. Irons must not be the protector of which the book speaks." Samuel said.  
  
"Now, Alverado, I will kill you for my honor. Tomorrow, noon, I challenge you to a match with blades. The match is to be to the death." Kenneth turned and walked quickly out of the chapel.   
_______________________  
  


Irons whimpered quietly in his bed and Ian glanced back at him. He was still covered so Ian didn't disturb him. The liquor had given him a fitful sleep. Just another reason, Irons did not allow Ian to drink alcohol. He would abstain anyway, too often witnessing the consequences of over indulgence. The heavy watch at the end of his silver chain showed 2:36 am. A lot of night was still left. Ian cleared his head and resumed his stance.  
  


7  
  
Five years after Kenneth killed Alverado in the sword fight, he was still searching for the monk with the Witchblade manuscript. He sent telegraphs by land and cables by water, but to no avail. No one had seen Samuel or the book Kenneth described.  
  
At 25, Kenneth was a tall, slender, but powerfully built man. He wore the finest tailored clothing and kept his blonde hair slicked back which was the fashion in 1915. Europe was in the throes of war, and this Great War partially curtailed Kenneth's search for the monk.  


Sir Geoffrey disapproved of his son's obsession with this monk and his ancient relic. He wanted Kenneth to come home and attend to the affairs of the estate. Geoffrey was not well; a minor cough had turned deadly and he was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Kenneth sent terse letters informing his father that he had no intentions of returning to the manor. Much of the manor's staff left in fear of contracting the disease. Becky stayed on to take care of Geoffrey, feeling a sense of duty; she really had no where else to go. None of the other households would hire her because of where she came from. No one would risk bringing TB into their homes. Sir Geoffrey passed on within the year.  
  
Kenneth had not been home in six years and he had no intention of returning now. He sold the manor and gave Becky a sum of money intended to keep her in modest style for the rest of her life. He had loved Becky like a mother. The others were let go with nothing for their years of service. Kenneth had grown cruel.  
  
Information about the Witchblade always seemed to be just one step ahead of him. He found illustrations in ancient Egyptian papyrus', paintings of women brandishing the blade in grandiose cathedrals as well as small country monasteries. Many books had references to the gauntlet. Every reference found was purchased, whatever the cost. Once purchased, he shipped the items back to his offices in London. There, teams of highly paid translators tackled the texts researching every nuance of language and illustration.  
  
No one could, or would, tell him where the actual blade could be found. As the War ravaged Europe, Kenneth sailed to America to take up residence in a beautiful penthouse apartment in New York City. Acquiring a munitions plant, Kenneth secretly sold weapons to the Germans, adding to his vast fortune. He handled the details himself, to limit the number of people he needed to keep his secret. Government officials who sniffed too closely were easily bought off. Kenneth had no loyalties.  
  
Kenneth built a beautiful manor outside the City to allow him a respite from city life. He worked directly with the architectural firm in designing his future home which was to include a large garage to house his growing collection of automobiles. A stable was built, but the horses kept there would be for recreational use and not transportation. Much of the stone and other building materials were imported as well as the rare woods and marble which graced the interior. Crystal chandeliers and other fixtures were hand blown locally by an internationally known artist. Modern plumbing, electricity, and telephones rounded out the convenience requirements.  
  
The completed mansion was understated in its elegance. New York's elite could not wait for Kenneth to host his first party in his new home. And they were not disappointed. The shimmer

of gowns and tuxedos danced off the chandeliers and crystal framed mirrors in the Great Room. A fire raged in the fireplace, adding to the warm atmosphere as the guests slowly got drunk.  
  
All the while, Kenneth was bedding the wife of New York's mayor. Besides being a wealthy businessman, he was also known for his dalliances with other men's wives. They were both beautiful and safe. His money allowed him to buy any errors in judgment he might make.  
  
Left with memories of his savage rape, his damaged psyche sometimes craved rough sex. Willing partners of both genders could easily be bought for his passion. Exerting pain on others titillated him and receiving pain made him feel alive. He grew to be a dark man.

_____________________________  
  
  
During the '20s, Kenneth became restless. His investments in scientific endeavors were paying off with new medicines to help fight diseases. A not quite so accidental development of a drug, eventually called penicillin, allowed him to control business and world leaders across the globe. The general use of the drug would not occur for another 20 years after its development by another scientific team. Limiting its use to secure 'business deals' earned him tremendous amounts of money . . . and enemies.   
  
Kenneth hired his first bodyguard, Karl, a husky German who was deadly with both his hands and his guns. Laura, Kenneth's long-term mistress lived in the New York penthouse. He was not in love with her. Laura looked pretty on his arm when he needed a companion for business dinners or parties. Kenneth also used her as a tool to banish his frustrations when needed. Laura's physical needs were taken care of; lavish wardrobes spending money, and acceptance by New York's society elite kept her satisfied. Her own sexual escapades were allowed as long as she was discreet.  


The underworld of opium and dark sex called to Kenneth. He never relied too heavily on the drug, never became addicted, but did become addicted to the sex. Part of Karl's duties were to secure appropriate sexual partners. Women, girls, men, boys, it didn't matter, as long as they liked pain. Occasionally the orgies would last for days. Then Kenneth's money cleaned up the filth.  
  
Finally, he grew tired of Laura. When he entered the penthouse one evening and found her with a new lover, Kenneth so was enraged that he beat the man nearly to death. Turning on Laura, he backhanded her, knocking her to the floor. She was still naked and sobbing when Kenneth icily told her to get out, that very night; her things would be packed and sent to wherever she wished. He never wanted to see her again, and he didn't.  
  
Business now took up most of his waking hours. Kenneth invested much of his money in his own companies, and hoarded cash in vaults throughout the U.S. A distrust of banks kept him his fortune after the Crash of 1929. Sensing turmoil in Europe, again, Kenneth increased production at his munitions plants.   
  
His speculative purchase of mineral rights around the Arabian coast, during the mid-'30s brought critical admonition from financial houses around the world. No one laughed when Kenneth's drilling company produced two of the largest oil deposits ever found. Building a refinery in the states, provided thousands of jobs for the unemployed during the Depression, enhancing his image as an emerging philanthropist.  


A small but well equipped laboratory was built in Atlanta in 1936 to experiment with duplicating animals using only a few of their cells. The best research scientists were hired and vast amounts of money went into the research. His labs duplicated a frog in 1943. Duplicating mammals, and perhaps someday humans, seemed within the realm of possibility. This research was very important to Kenneth and he poured more money into it. Discovery and mapping of silky strands of a substance nicknamed 'The Twisted Ladder of Life', eventually led to a rabbit named "Bunny" which was an identical copy of her mother. Selfishly, this achievement was kept secret as Kenneth's team now worked to duplicate a human. After WWII, German scientists with questionable credentials were added to the payroll to help with the project.  
  
Yet he was still restless. Even the richest man on earth can feel bored. There had been no news on the Witchblade for 15 long years, despite the vast numbers of people he dedicated to the search. His money could buy him anything on earth . . . except the Witchblade. He became a bitter man.  
  


8  
  
Irons woke suddenly, his eyes wide, disturbed at how vivid this dream was. Ian was immediately at his side, kneeling on one leg, asking if Irons needed anything. An unexpected shove sent Ian sprawling. Ian frowned, knowing his Master could not see his expression in the darkness. He checked his watch again . . . it was only 3:27 am. Would the night never end? Irons turned on his side and fell asleep again.   
  
_____________________________________  
  


One afternoon in late 1940, Kenneth received a phone call from one of his detectives, Matthews, in Geneva. An SS officer by the name of Stolz had recently confiscated a collection of priceless art, out of France.  
  
A generous bribe gained Matthews access to the inventory sheet. The collection included a painting of Joan of Arc, in battle, wearing a strange gauntlet, listing #16, and a silver bracelet embedded with a large ruby, listing #26. The collection was on its way to Berlin by rail. Kenneth instructed Matthews to follow the collection and use any amount of money needed to view the pieces himself.   
  
Elation filled Kenneth as he quickly made plans to fly to Europe. He had citizenship in the U.S., Canada and Great Britain and kept his Passports current. The U.S. passport seemed to be the best choice since the States hadn't entered the war yet. Large bribes quickly bought him Visas to Switzerland and Germany. His own Lockheed Vega could be readied within the hour. This was it . . . he'd been waiting his entire adult life for this discovery and he would be in Berlin in four days. The Germans could name any price for the artifacts and Kenneth would pay it. He could almost feel the gauntlet in his hands as he called for his assistant to pack two suitcases for him.  
  
The plane ride was long and exhausting even with all the added luxuries. Reviewing the many documents collected through the years, Kenneth's blood rushed. He couldn't sleep. The weather was not cooperating and the plane rocked and bucked, making Kenneth nauseous. Refueling in Nova Scotia, Greenland, Scotland, and Paris, the plane made its final landing, thankfully, in Geneva. A quick cab ride to the train station, and Kenneth boarded the First Class car to Berlin. A steward carried his luggage and showed him to his compartment.   


Exhaustion brought sleep. When he woke, 13 hours later, the steward had put away his things. Starving, he ordered dinner delivered to his compartment. After eating, he lay back on the bed, the train's rolling movement and loud whine beckoned him back to sleep.  
  
Matthews met him at the train station in Berlin at 4:30 pm. the following day. Exiting the train brought Kenneth face to face with his first uniformed German guards. One in a particularly foul mood studied his passport and visa, accepted the 100 U.S. dollars tucked in the pages and allowed him through.   
  
A driver carried Kenneth's bags to the car Matthews had hired, at considerable expense. Such luxuries as limos were just not available due to the war.  
  
"Mr. Irons, I have just learned that the collection has not left the warehouse since its delivery three days ago." Matthews said as the car drove off. The streets were filled with soldiers and tanks  


Tell me what you saw. I want every detail. Iron's was breathless in anticipation.  


Matthew's description of the gauntlet was exactly as the manuscripts had depicted. Joan, on horseback, her right arm encased in a heavy, armor gauntlet set with jewels and vicious talons which held her fingers. At the end, a sword emerged from just above the talons. The actual bracelet had been shown in many different forms, so Irons was not concerned when Matthew's described a small, delicate twisting of silver holding the large ruby-red stone in its center.  
  
Checkpoints every couple of blocks made the journey to his hotel slow and slightly disturbing. Of course the War was full blown here and the signs were everywhere. Irons was glad he could use his American credentials for the trip.  


Much of the hotel had been taken over by the SS, but it still serviced a few civilians. Speaking perfect high German, Irons checked in and retired to his suite. He tipped the bellboy and concierge heavily in case he needed discreet help in the future. Matthews would be staying in one of the suite's guest bedrooms.  


Sitting back in the large comfortable sofa, Kenneth beckoned Matthews to sit next to him. A silver tray of sandwiches and apples graced the cocktail table and an opened bottle of wine peeked out of a standing silver wine bucket next to his arm. Kenneth poured the wine and handed Matthews a glass.  
  
"I've not been able to arrange for you to see the items, Sir." Matthews voice grew quite as he sipped the wine. "Whisperings hint that the collection is for Hitler himself. However, an SS officer, Stolz, has his eyes on the bracelet for his mistress. That's all I've found out."  
  
"If the bracelet is genuine, it will be mine." Kenneth's voice left not doubt that he would do anything to obtain the Witchblade.  
  
9  
  


It was too late. The witchblade already graced the wrist of the lovely green-eyed brunette waltzing around the dance floor with Officer Stolz. Kenneth had paid for this extravagant party in the hotel's ballroom. Even during war time, the profligate use of money can fetch a legion of gilded Society attendees. And German Officers.  
  
The green-eyed beauty's name was Elizabeth Bronte, an American, who had obviously stolen the heart of this SS officer. Or his dick. Looking quite handsome in his tuxedo, Kenneth walked onto the dance floor and cut in on Stolz.   
  
"May I have this dance?" Kenneth bowed and smiled his biggest smile, his blue eyes flashing.   
  
Stolz was not happy, but handed Elizabeth off to the party's host and left the dance floor.  
  
"Are you an American? Elizabeth asked. "Your accent is hard to place."  
  
"I have lived in America for a great many years, but I was born in Britain," Irons replied. "I left as a teen to be educated in Europe, so my accent is a combination of many locales."

God she was beautiful. She was wearing a lovely gown of emerald green brocade with pearl seed stitching across the bodice. It was low cut in front allowing Kenneth a generous view of the tops of her breasts. Best of all, she was wearing the silver bracelet with the ruby red stone.   
  
The band finished the waltz and immediately began another. They whirled around the floor oblivious to the hoards around them. As they danced, the stone began to swirl in shades of blood red and sun yellow. Kenneth had a difficult time keeping his eyes on his dance partner and not on her bracelet.  
  
"What brings you to Berlin, Mr. Irons? It's not the safest place to be with the war."  
  
"I came in search of an art relic, one that has been missing since the time of Joan of Arc." He left that cryptically dangling, staring again at the swirling stone.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Yes, a magical gauntlet which has protected and destroyed as far back as the dawn of written history. Perhaps before."

Kenneth watched closely for her reaction. Did she know the object of his desire was there, swirling, on her wrist? He reached out his fingers and barely brushed over the swirling stone. His hand jerked back in pain as blisters quickly formed on his finger tips; the Hell Stone had burned his flesh.   
  
"Excuse me, Miss Bronte," he winced in pain and led her off the dance floor. "I must attend to something."   
  
Almost running, Kenneth bound up the hotel stairs, forgoing the slow elevator, and rushed into his suite. He yanked the bottle of wine out of the ice bucket and plunged his hand into the icy water. Damn, it hurt. His touch had been a grazing one. What if he had tried to remove it from her arm? Would he still have his hand?   
  
The overstuffed upholstered chair beckoned and he sank down in it. Halfway around the world he had journeyed and he couldn't even touch the witchblade? He closed his eyes and sighed.

Of course, the witchblade legend says the blade can only be worn by a woman. A woman born into a long line of wielders, one generation to the next. Even if the blade had not surfaced between generations, there was always a wielder born. Elizabeth must be the latest born to wield the blade.  
  
But, why? What was an American society girl going to do with such a gift of power? Did she even know what she had? Doubtful. Removing his hand from the ice, he wrapped it in the towel next to the wine bucket. The pain had lessened, but his fingers were badly blistered.  
  
A knock at the door prompted Kenneth to shout, "Who is it?"  
  
"Matthews."  
  
"Come in."  
  
Matthews entered the room with a black bag. He looked at Kenneth's towel-wrapped hand and knelt down next to the chair.  
  
"I keep this around for just such occasions." The bag spilled its contents onto the floor.  
  
"I didn't know you had an M.D. after you name," the remark was snide, but Matthews ignored him.  
  
"A person in my line of work needs to be ready for anything." Finding the cream he was searching for, Matthews drenched the blistered fingers and wrapped sterile gauze around them. A little tape kept the dressing tight.  
  
"You know, Mr. Irons, I actually saw a small whirl of smoke rise from the stone as you touched it. It doesn't seem to like you."  
  
"I don't give a damn!" Kenneth screamed as he rose from the chair and began pacing the room.

"I've waited too many years to allow it to get away from me now. I can't understand why it has chosen that girl! A long time ago a monk told me that I might be this generation's protector. If I'm supposed to protect that girl, why won't the blade let me touch it?"   
  
The phone rang and Matthews answered. He motioned to Kenneth, "It's for you."  
  
He grabbed the received angrily, "Yes?" Then, his voice softened. "I am so sorry Miss Bronte. I suddenly remembered an item of business that needed immediate attention. (Pause) No, I'm fine. Just a little tired from my long trip. (Pause) I apologize profusely for my hasty exit. I hope you will continue to enjoy the party. (Pause) Tea? But what of Officer Stolz? (Pause) You're sure? (Pause) Fine, tomorrow, 4 p.m. the Hotel Café. I'll send my car . . . If you insist. Please stay and enjoy the party." He hung up, thoughtfully.  


"She wants to see me tomorrow." Pointed fingers, as if in prayer, held his chin. "Perhaps I can discover what she knows about the bracelet."  
  
"Or maybe she'll find out what you know. Be careful."  
  
"Always, Matthews, always."  


10  
  
  
"Matthews," Irons cried out as he sat up in bed, his breathing rapid. Ian leapt to his master's side, kneeling beside the bed. Irons grabbed Ian's strong hand and held it to his face.  
  
"Master?" Ian didn't quite know what to do. He lifted the glass of water to Irons' lips and the older man knocked it away, shattering it against the cherry paneling. Ian let Irons hold on to his arm and dropped his gaze. He would wait for instructions.  


"You look so much like her," Irons whispered as he stared into Ian's face. His free hand reached out to stroke the beautiful face kneeling beside the bed. Ian blushed, but kept his eyes lowered. Irons could feel the heat rising in Ian's cheek.   


Irons lay back in the bed and began to dream again. His grip on Ian's arm tightened, forcing the bodyguard to remain kneeling at his side.  
  
______________________________   
  
  
  
The night's silence was shattered by the sound of shooting, followed by sirens. Kenneth woke and went to his bedroom window, pulling the heavy drapes back slightly so he could see. Matthews burst into the room brandishing a PPK.   


"I don't think you'll need that in here," Kenneth continued to stare out the small opening. It sounds like all the action is many blocks away." He let the drapes fall back into place.  
  
"The 'action', sir, has a tendency to move quickly." Matthews looked at his watch. It was 3:45 am. He quietly replaced his gun in its holster and walked to the window.   
  
The sirens continued to scream as Irons poured himself a glass of water. The party ended around 1:30 and Irons hoped his guests had arrived home safely. Especially, Miss Bronte.   
  
Silence came about 20 minutes later. Both men returned to their beds and slept for a few more hours.  
  
________________________________________  
  


Miss Bronte stepped into the Café at 4:10 later that day. She was wearing an attractive business suit and hat with a feather. The Maitre de showed her to Kenneth's table. Standing, he took her gloved hand and kissed the back of it. The Maitre de helped her with her chair.  
  
"I'm sorry I'm late," Elizabeth removed her gloves. The witchblade bracelet began to glow. "Traffic was terrible and more checkpoints were set up overnight." She glanced at his bandaged hand. "Are you hurt?"  
  
"Oh, just a few scrapes, but you can't be too careful." Kenneth paused before continuing. "My associate and I were awakened by sirens and gunfire. I have to keep reminding myself there is a war going on."   
  
The waiter brought a silver pot of tea and two slices of apple strudel.  
  
"Hmmm," Elizabeth sighed, smiling. "No scones. Strudel is just not the same, but we're lucky to have something sweet. Sugar is nearly non-existent to Germany's citizens now."   
  
They sipped their tea and nibbled at the strudel. Kenneth had been scheming all day about how to get the witchblade away from her, but held on to his calm demeanor.   
  
"That is a most interesting bracelet, Miss Bronte. Where did you get it?"  
  
"Hans gave it to me. Uhh, Officer Stolz. It came from a collection which included a painting of Joan of Arc. She is wearing a similar stone, but it is embedded in an armored gauntlet. I'm sure it's not the stone from so long ago, but I like it. It seems to change colors according to my mood."  
  
Kenneth's heart leapt. Calming himself, he took another sip of tea. He had to handle this carefully so as not to frighten here away.  
  
"May I see it?"  
  
She began to remove it, but he protested.  
  
"No, just let me look at it on your beautiful arm." Kenneth took her arm as she held it out to him. He wasn't going to get burned this time.   
  
Twisting her arm slightly he gazed into the stone. It began to swirl violently in hues of blood-red and yellow and white. He suddenly felt a rush of desire. Blue eyes widened with lust.   
  
"See?" Elizabeth pulled her hand away, embarrassed, recognizing the look in Kenneth's eyes. The swirling slowed and then stopped. "I just don't understand it. It does the same thing when Hans is near." She smiled again, her green eyes lowered, "Perhaps it's cursed."  


Kenneth had no doubt, but attempted a laugh. God! Get control of yourself!

  
  


"Well, if St. Joan wore it, it certainly did not bring her good luck!"  
  
The both laughed.   
  
"Would you be interested in selling it? I would be willing to offer a handsome sum. I have been searching out ancient religious relics and would be extremely pleased to add the bracelet to my collection. I could add it to some major pieces on display at the Midtown Museum in New York." Kenneth held his breath and his chest tightened. He could have made a better pitch, but it was out now.  
  
"Oh, Mr. Irons, I'm flattered, but this was a gift. I just couldn't sell it." She looked down and stroked the bracelet. It was no longer swirling. "After the war, I would like to find its rightful owners."  
  
Kenneth swore softly, wrote an extremely generous, seven figure amount on the back of his business card and offered it to Elizabeth.

"Perhaps this might change your mind," Irons said. "Do discuss the offer with Officer Stolz. It might help the German army in its war effort?"  
  
A coy smile crossed Elizabeth's lips as she stood to leave.   
  
"Your offer is extremely generous. I will discuss it with Hans; he may want to discuss it with his superiors. Good afternoon, Mr. Irons." She quickly retreated from the table.  
  
Kenneth felt very smug. He could almost see the bracelet in its case in New York as he finished his tea.   
  
  
11  
  


Two days later, Kenneth received a written message from Elizabeth. The messenger waited outside his door, expecting a response. The lacy parchment had her initials at the top. Her handwriting was simple, but flowing.  
  
"Mr. Irons," the note began. "Hans Stolz spoke with several high level officers and they would like to speak with you over dinner regarding your kind offer. He will send a car for you tomorrow at 8 pm. Please RSVP via the messenger."  
  
Kenneth delivered a quick acceptance note using hotel stationary to the waiting messenger and tipped him heavily.  
  
Should he take Matthews with him? Or Matthews' gun? A sudden taste of fear lodged in his throat. He could be done away with and his body never found. He shook his head, loosening the fear. No, not if they wanted the money. Arriving with a gun would not be wise. He just had to trust Elizabeth.  
  
___________________________________  
  
  
  
The agreement was $30 million; a lot of money even for Kenneth. He would get the bracelet and wire the sum into a Swiss account. And . . . they guaranteed him safe passage out of Germany with the bracelet.  
  
There was one problem . . . Kenneth had not seen the bracelet turn into the gauntlet. Was he buying the genuine witchblade? He couldn't ask for a demonstration or the Germans might realize what they were about to sell . . . a weapon with massive powers. Even so, he was confident it was the genuine article.  


Around 1 am, there was a knock at his door. Still up, he answered and was surprised to find Miss Bronte on the other side. She had a serious look on her face.  


"Please come in," he said as he ushered her through the door.  
  
She swished into the room and whirled around to meet his gaze.  
  
"This transaction must not be completed!" Wild green eyes glared straight through Kenneth as she paced around the room.  
  
"What do you mean?" Anger filled his voice. "Everything has been arranged! Payment will be made tomorrow!" He grabbed her hands.  
  
Suddenly the bracelet was gone and an armored gauntlet with evil looking talons and a long blade chinked into place on her hand. The blade touched Kenneth's throat.   
  
"Money will not be transferred and this blade will not become yours!" A tiny rivulet of blood ran down Kenneth's neck staining his silk shirt. She pulled back on the blade slightly.  
  
Was this the same woman he had meet just two days ago? He couldn't believe it.  
  
"Mr. Irons, I have to tell you something. I don't want to, but I doubt you will let this drop without an explanation. Please sit."  
  
Kenneth sat on the sofa, wiping the blood with the sleeve of his shirt. Suddenly the blade chinked back to the delicate bracelet on Elizabeth's wrist.  
  
"Mr. Irons, Kenneth, I am entrusting you with my life . . . and the lives of many Allied forces," Elizabeth began. (Pause) "I work for the British government. I obtain sensitive information from Stolz and deliver it to my British contact. During my work, I managed to obtain access to the secret Enigma codes, so British Intelligence can translate German communications. Stolz is involved with this project. I volunteered to do this before the gauntlet found me. There is still more that I can do here."  


"I am the wielder and the witchblade protects me. It has been lost for generations, but my blood legacy brought me here. Legends tell of a human protector, but he hasn't found me yet." She paused before continuing, "You must not give the Germans $30 million; nothing would stop them in their quest to rule the world."  
  
Stunned. Mouth agape. Rage building. "I also have a destiny!" Irons said. "Mine is to own the blade, use the blade. If I cannot use it myself, I will control the person who can." His eyes said more than his words. "I will have you and the witchblade!"   


Matthews quickly stepped out of the shadows and covered her mouth and nose with a cloth. The ether did its job and she slumped into Kenneth's arms in a few seconds. The witchblade swirled, but he made sure he didn't touch it.   
  
"Get the car. We're leaving tonight!"  
  
12  
  


Surprisingly, Matthews slipped the bracelet from Elizabeth's arm. Just in case the Germans searched them along the route, the bracelet was hidden in a secret compartment in Matthew's shoe.   


Pretending Miss Bronte had passed out from drinking, they had little trouble boarding the train to Geneva. Matthews used his fake Swiss passport and visa. He had several, but thought this one would serve him best on this trip.  


No one bothered them in the First Class coach. Kenneth told the steward not to disturb them.   
  
Matthews fretted over when the Germans would discover Miss Bronte missing. She lived with Stolz, but she had her own bedroom. Not that it prevented them from sleeping together. After all, she was a spy. Where else to obtain information, than in the afterglow of sex?  
  
The two men took turns sleeping and keeping Miss Bronte 'company' when she woke. German guards went through the cars once checking passports and papers before the reached the border. Kenneth kept his nerves in check. Elizabeth said nothing, as Matthews kept a gun behind her back.   
  
At the Swiss border, their papers were checked again and this time, their luggage was searched. Nothing inappropriate was found, following sizeable bribes, and the train rolled on into Geneva on time.  
  
________________________________  
  
  
  
New York greeted the three travelers with cold blowing rain, as the plane landed. The limo drove through the black night as Kenneth gazed at the witchblade resting in the crystal box purchased in Geneva. It continued to swirl, angry that it was being kept from its wielder.   
  
Elizabeth spoke very little during the trip. In Geneva, Kenneth had allowed her to send a brief message to her British contact that her spy days were over. She was on her way to America. Of course they had not allowed her to mention that the trip was against her will. She was so angry at Kenneth whisking her away from her sworn duty; the loss of the witchblade was only secondary. Her arm was the only place it belonged and Kenneth could not keep it from her. She just had to decide what to do when she did take it back.  
  
Pulling into the driveway of Kenneth's mansion, Elizabeth was taken aback. Rich he was, but this estate was unimaginable! Kenneth escorted her inside and the servants brought in the small amount of luggage they had.  
  
Matthews accepted the offer to remain as Kenneth's bodyguard. The salary offered was good and he didn't want to return to Europe while the war was raging.  
  
Elizabeth became a prisoner in the huge mansion. She was not allowed to leave without Kenneth's approval and Matthews' accompaniment. She wanted for nothing but her freedom.

The bracelet was returned to her wrist, but she could not make it work against someone who was not threatening her. Easily removable now, she barely felt that she was its possessor.  
  
Scientists studied the bracelet but it remained a mystery. The metal was nothing they had ever seen before and the stone was not a ruby, but an unknown geologic substance as well. None of their instruments could crack, scratch, or injure the metal or the stone. It was an enigma of its own.  
  
Elizabeth's dislike of Kenneth deepened, even though, he tried to make her happy; tried to be charming. Gifts and exotic trips meant nothing to her if she were not free. They spent long weekends together, aboard his yacht, when he could be away from his business, But, nothing made her happy. And he would never let her go. Could never let her go as long as she was bound to the witchblade.   
  
Her sleep was never peaceful. Visions of past lives . . . or were they dreams of others' existences? They tormented Elizabeth. Women appeared from different time lines to show her the powers of the Witchblade. The battles it had won, the defeats it allowed. They warned that the blade was fickle, deserting its bearer in her time of greatest need. The visions were often scrambled, showing Elizabeth that time was not static, was not set, but fluid. She did not fully understand these dreams and they tormented her. Once these dreams began, the witchblade did not allow itself to be removed from her wrist.   
  
Through the months, desire for Elizabeth began to envelope Kenneth but she spurned his advances. By the look in his eyes, she knew his lust grew stronger every day. Kenneth liked young women and teenaged boys; they came and went regularly, trying hard to satiate him. The better they performed, the more he paid them. They all left him wanting more.   
  
Kenneth's desire for the wielder burned his senses, fueled his passion. One night, he found her door locked and he laughed. Surely she did not think that would keep him out? Elizabeth woke to see Kenneth looming over her bed, his blue eyes brilliant with light from within. Grabbing her harshly, he pulled her to her feet. She was startled at his nakedness, but surprised he hadn't come for her long before this. The witchblade was swirling furiously on her arm as he ravaged her mouth. Unless the witchblade responded in her defense, she dared not fight him. Swirling reds and yellows were its only answer. Did this mean the witchblade wanted him here? Suddenly a change came over him. He gently unbuttoned her silk gown, kissing her along her neck and shoulder. The gown slid to the floor and her knees buckled. Could this man be her protector?  
  
Elizabeth parted her lips and allowed his tongue access to her wet mouth. He groaned and rubbed his erection against her stomach. For the first time, Kenneth's eyes roamed her body. Gently, pushing her back onto the bed, he nibbled at the base of her beautiful neck, sucking on the wound, lapping at the trickle of blood. Pulling back, she shivered at Kenneth's blood-covered mouth. A slight din rapidly turned to loud roaring in his ears when he sucked more blood out of her warm neck before moving away from the wound.  
  
Her nipples tingled under his tongue. She began to writhe. Scenes of lovers through the ages danced behind her eyelids as she began to kiss Kenneth's neck and chest. Laughing, he found her wet secret place and plunged a finger in deeply. Crying out, her hips rocked forward, and she called out his name. He lifted her up, drawing her hips to his and buried himself deep within. Waiting a moment for her body to accept him, he began to move. With each thrust he hit her pleasure spot, eliciting throaty groans from deep within. She whimpered when she came, her inner contractions around Kenneth sent him to his own orgasm. Both collapsed on the bed and he rolled off her and immediately left her room.  
  
Gasping, Kenneth stumbled into his own bed chambers and clawed his way to the bathroom. The red flush on his face was throbbing as fast as his heart was beating, his mouth still smeared with blood.   


"Matthews!" His cries were loud though he could barely catch his breath. The floor reached up and pulled him down, images of time never ending, whirling in his mind. Bodily reflexes took over and curled him into a ball. Scenes he did not recognize, scenes he did. They all spun through his mind. Unknown times, ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome, Joan, then nothing. In each time a handsome dark haired man was at the wielder's side. A confidant, a lover, a betrayer. This man was not Kenneth. The sounds and images pulsing, pounding through his brain. Sobbing, Kenneth covered his eyes with his arms.  
  
Matthews appeared in the bathroom doorway, eyes wide as Kenneth trembled on the floor. Elizabeth, a robe clutched tightly around her, stared over the bodyguard's shoulder.   
  
"Sir!" Matthews wrapped Kenneth in a large towel and helped him to his bed. Once under the warm comforter, his breathing began to slow and his flush paled.  
  
"I'll call the doctor," Matthews reached for the phone on Kenneth's night stand.  
  
"NO! No doctors." Kenneth breathing was almost back to normal when he reached out for Matthews' arm.   
  
Elizabeth and Matthews looked at each other grimly as they watched in disbelief, at the transformation happening before them. Kenneth's face slowly began to soften, 55 years of lines and discoloration fading, his skin growing taut. Wisps of hair began to fill in his receding hairline, streaks of gray returned to pale blonde. In a matter of a few minutes, 25 years of aging were turned back.   
  
"Oh, my God!" Matthews stumbled away from the bed in terror.   
  
Elizabeth took Kenneth's hand and whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "The legends are true . . . the wielder's . . . my . . . blood brings youth and long life . . . to . . . my protector. Who are you?" Elizabeth dropped his hand and turned to run from the room.  
  
Kenneth caught her arm and rose from the bed.  
  
"What happened?" He looked from Elizabeth to Matthews. Fear and silence held their faces.  
  
Kenneth got out of bed and went back into the bathroom. The full length mirror told a story he could not believe. Touching his face, his hair, his body . . . he had been in good shape for a man of his age, but now . . . he looked 30 again.   
  
Turning slowly, he read the shock in Elizabeth's eyes. Obviously she hadn't known the extent of the gauntlet's powers; the mystical powers of the witchblade, the wielder and the wielder's blood.  
  
13  
  
  
Ian was growing tired; the night was proving to be a long one. It was now 6:30 and Irons was still restless, still dreaming. Tight fingers around Ian's arm retreated a couple of hours ago, but he remained kneeling by his master's bed. He had left Irons' presence only once, to relieve himself and splash cool water on his face. Hope was not a big part of his life; however, Ian did anticipate a few hours of sleep for himself once Irons was up and around. Ever alert, he continued to kneel beside his sleeping master.

_____________________________________  
  
Through the years, Kenneth fell in love with Elizabeth and gave her her freedom. Now, no longer his prisoner Elizabeth stayed on; she had nowhere to go. Her blood kept him young but she grew despondent.   
  
The noted scientists hired to discover the life force powers of the witchblade and Elizabeth's blood had come up empty handed. However, their research into mammal duplication led to the cloning of a human in the late 50s. The baby was incubated completely outside a host mother; but, unfortunately, she only lived a few minutes. They made many attempts before the first child lived more than a few hours. With the steady influx of money into the project, the life spans of these duplicates kept improving. Three months was the longest for the first hundred attempts. Complete success at cloning a human would not occur until the 1970s.  
  
One day, in late 1958, Kenneth found a note sitting on his desk in the library. Inside, it read:  


"The witchblade is now yours, I hope the next chosen wielder has more fortitude than I in keeping it away from you." signed 'Elizabeth'  


Kenneth roared and ran up the steps to her room. Lying across the bed, Elizabeth's eyes were closed as if in a peaceful sleep. Beside the bed was an empty bottle of sleeping pills.  


"Elizabeth! Damn you!" Kenneth shook the limp body. "Matthews!"   


When Matthews appeared, Kenneth told him to call the doctor. It was too late, but he couldn't stand the thought of her being gone. He realized that he had been in love with her from the beginning. Burying his head in her hair, he sobbed and stroked her cooling face, rocking her.  


The doctor arrived in 10 minutes. Elizabeth was cold as he examined her. Kenneth felt his heart tighten and darken. All his emotions were retracted inside him. The love of his life was gone. Never would he allow someone to tear open his heart again. Oh, yes, there would be companions, sexual exploits, but he would never love someone again. Never.  


"Dr. Immo," Kenneth said quietly, "I want her body taken care of immediately. There cannot be any further tissue damage."   
  
Kenneth took the bracelet from her arm. It popped off easily now that its wielder was dead.  
  
The young doctor cocked his head at the grieving man, realizing his work was coming to its biggest test.   
  
"Yes, Sir." Dr. Immo called for his assistant to help him with Elizabeth's body.   
  
Once in the cryo chamber, Kenneth sat by her side for several hours. She looked so peaceful. In a few days, Immo would attempt a small transfusion of Elizabeth's blood to see if it still carried the life force Kenneth so desperately needed.  
  
While waiting for the transfusion, and without thinking, Kenneth slid the bracelet on his own wrist. It immediately transformed into the gauntlet, its red stone swirling madly. Agony like he had never felt before, ravaged his arm and his mind. The same legends Elizabeth had seen, played across his senses, but with more blood, more gore, more hopelessness. His arm burned and streaks of what seemed like lightening bolted from the fingers of the blade. Kenneth screamed and pulled at the gauntlet but couldn't get it off his arm.   
  
Dr. Immo watched in horror but dared not touch him. Writhing on the floor, Kenneth continued to scream as visions of fire, ice, wind, and rain ravaged his mind. Removing the gauntlet was impossible; it was melting into his flesh. Then, suddenly, the pain ceased and the blade flew off Kenneth's arm, returning to bracelet form before landing with a clink at the other end of the infirmary.   
  
Dr. Immo rushed to Kenneth with bandages and burn salve. They were unnecessary. The doctor watched as the seared flesh of Kenneth's arm returned to its light ivory color. Two white entwined circles were all that remained of the ordeal. The physical pain was gone.  
  
Matthews appeared when he heard his employer screaming. He found Kenneth backed up into a corner, trembling, and muttering incoherently. Immo had wrapped a blanket around Kenneth, gave him a sedative, then helped Matthews take him upstairs to his bedroom.   
  
The ordeal left him shaken for several weeks. He had proved to himself that only the witchblade itself can choose its new wielder. How long would it take to find a new one? Tightly shutting his eyes, Kenneth laid his head back against the leather chair in front of the fire. A transfusion of Elizabeth's blood seemed to satisfy Kenneth's needs. Aging continued to be stalled.  
  
He ordered Dr. Immo to continue the duplicating research using some of Elizabeth's cells. Kenneth knew one day he would have her back . . . in one form or another. He had loved her . . . Perhaps, if he had told her, she would not have been desperate enough to . . . Perhaps he would travel to Europe. He needed to get away. The 60's were ahead and maybe he would find a new wielder in Europe. The blade had rejected him, but he would never give it up. Someday, the right woman would come along . . . and he was a patient man.  


_________________________________  
  
"Uhhh," Irons sat up and slid his feet onto the floor. Ian reached for the blue silk robe and helped Irons into it as he stood up. It was 8:30 am.  
  
"I'm so cold," teeth chattering, Irons sat in one of his chairs.   
  
Ian put his Glock back in its holster, adjusted the thermostat in the bedroom and got an extra blanket from the closet, wrapping it around the shivering man. The sun was out and Ian opened the drapes to let it shine in.  
  
"Master, you had a difficult night. Were your dreams unpleasant?" Ian stood in front of Irons, eyes cast down, his dark hair loose around his face.   
  
"I . . . my past, Ian," Irons pushed himself out of the chair and pulled Ian's chin up to look into his face. "Thankfully, the memories . . . they are fading now." His voice softened to a whisper as he spoke. "We will find the next wielder, Ian, we will."

Hazel eyes met blue as Irons released his grip on Ian's chin. The young man's gaze returned to the floor. Kenneth could tell Ian was tired, though nothing in his stance suggested it. The young man has been on guard all night.  


"I'm going to shower now. I have another pawn to play in the Alaskan deal." Irons stripped off his pajamas and headed into his shower. He stopped at the doorway and turned, his eyes an icy blue. "I am displeased with your work yesterday, Ian. I expect better of you today or I will be forced to exact severe punishment. Do you understand?"  


"Yes, Master."  
  
Sighing, Ian walked slowly to his own quarters. Irons would probably demand another 20 hours of him. He could do it easily and more, if necessary. It was what he had been trained for. It was why he existed. It was in his blood.  
  


end  
  



End file.
